


cut for time

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Radio, M/M, Outtakes, more spooky nonsense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Outtakes, prequels, sequels, and drabbles(ish) all set in the same universe asdead air
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 35
Kudos: 31





	1. the one with the nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> most of these are set somewhere vaguely between chapter 31 and the epilogue, but i'll be sure to leave a note if that changes!

For the most part, the nightmares Tom used to get after his uncle’s death mostly went away. They came back sometimes when he was older, but they didn’t match the sheer terror they used to cause when he was younger. 

They took a month to come back. Tom wasn’t sure why. Maybe the lack of sleep and the sheer exhaustion when he finally fell into bed (or the sofa, or once the kitchen table) was enough to keep them at bay.

But they came back with a fucking vengence. 

Tom wouldn’t have called them creative exactly. The dark usually was there, and he used to revisit his uncle’s death, listen to the dark’s scratchy voice, feel it’s cold smokey body brush his skin. Only _now_ it was Greg he had to watch die, who bled out in his arms, who looked up at him still and dead and silent. 

He tried not to let Greg in on how poorly he was sleeping. Greg _needed_ to sleep, much more than Tom needed to sleep. And if Greg caught wind of all this he’d just fucking worry, and then it would be a mess.

No. It was better to just handle it himself. 

But every almost every night now

_The smoke would clear, Tom would feel the icy chill, would watch the dark sink it’s claws into Greg, would hear it’s horrific screams. And no matter what he did, he was frozen. His feet glued to the spot. Too late once again. Too scared once again. There would be blood and more blood, sinking into the grass. It would cackle. Too slow Tommy, too slow again. And it would vanish, and finally Tom could move, but it was too late because Greg was still and bloody and Tom was all alone again._

he would wake up, silent, gasping. Greg, who was still on the medicine from the doctor, usually slept through it. Tom didn’t know what he’d do when Greg became a light sleeper again.

He reached out, like always, just to check, but tonight the other side of the bed was empty. He bolted upright, ran his hand across the sheets like maybe he was missing Greg’s tall body somehow. He drew a shaky breath and pushed the covers off. Surely Greg was just in the bathroom or the kitchen and would be fine

(but what if it _wasn’t_ and what if he was dead? What if Tom went into the kitchen and Greg was dead and the dark was _back?_ )

and Tom was just overreacting. Mondale remained unbothered, looked at him, then went back to sleep. 

He tried not to race out of the bedroom, tried to stay calm as he went into the kitchen.

“Hey man,” Greg said, leaning against the counter, “I couldn’t sleep. You look like shit.”

“Yeah I ah, I had a bad dream.”

“You’re finally going to talk to me about them?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“You wake up like, every night. I could tell something was wrong. I didn’t want to bring it up, you know, cause of how you are.”

Greg smiled at him. He looked tired-- as tired as Tom felt. The kind of tired that went deep, past your skin and settled in your very core. He was healing nicely still. The wrist cast was set to come off next week. He could see Sam’s frilly signature from this angle. Hopefully the X Rays would show the bones all looked like they were supposed to. 

“I don’t even think I’m going to ask you to elaborate on that,” Tom said. 

“Want some tea?” Greg asked, “It’s nice for the nighttime. Helps with bad dreams I think.”

“Sure,” Tom said, “Let me make it though.”

“No offense, but like, I can put water on. I promise I’m not going to hurt myself boiling water. You worry too much.”

“Hey Greg? Fuck you.”

Greg laughed as he turned and Tom watched him collect the box of tea, and the kettle, and two mugs. Greg had an eclectic collection of mugs that he claimed were all the kind you got for free from places or from yard sales, which was why none of them matched.

He hesitated for a moment, and then sat at the table. 

“I wish you would wake me up,” Greg said, “If you have a nightmare.”

“You need to sleep you fucking idiot.”

“You sound like my mom. She’s nicer about it though. Do you like chamomile?”

“Sure.”

They fell silent. 

The clock above the sink ticked. A car honked outside. The rain pattered softly on the window. The kettle whistled and Greg poured two mugs. 

“You know,” he said as he sat down, “You snore so fucking loud.”

“You talk in your sleep.”

“We’re talking about you,” Greg blew on his tea and smiled, “But when you’re having a nightmare or whatever you get all quiet. I’m used to your snoring. I miss it.”

“That’s disgusting,” Tom replied, “absolutely the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me and it makes me want to throw up.”

“What do you have nightmares about?” Greg asked. 

“You. Dying.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Tom stared down at his drink, “oh.”

“But like. I’m not dead.”

“Thank you Captain fucking Obvious.”

“Sorry,” Greg frowned, “You have to wake me up if you have a nightmare.”

“Oh I do? Is that a rule? You’re not my boss yet dumbass.”

“No it’s,” he sighed and shook his head, “you’re really difficult sometimes, Tom. Let people fucking take care of you holy shit. Let _me_ take care of you.”

He stared at Greg. Blinked. Waited for Greg to say more but Greg just took a small sip of his tea. 

“What does that mean?”

“It _means_ ,” Greg began, “that you’ve been taking care of me since I got hurt and I appreciate it. You know I do. But when you’re upset or scared or whatever you don’t have to like, pretend you’re not. I want to help you. I love you. I promise twenty minutes of talking with you is not going to drastically alter my health. It would actually, like, make me feel better.”

“It’s stupid,” Tom said. He remembered having nightmares as a kid. They never woke his parents who wouldn’t have even known he’d woken up if they hadn’t occasionally caught him in the kitchen or watching late night TV to avoid going back to sleep. He told them he never remembered them anyway. 

“It’s not stupid. It’s fucking traumatic. And I want to help you.”

“Do you remember when you were in the hospital and I’d squeeze into the bed next to you? You’d let me lay on your shoulder or whatever.”

“Yes.”

Tom smiled, “do you think that you could hold me like that again?”

“Of course I can. Only if you promise me that you’ll wake me up if you need me.”

“Deal.”


	2. the one with the consensual haunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes Tom to visit someone important

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy thanksgiving to everybody celebrating and happy day to those who aren't! i already got a lil emo on tumblr but i'm thankful for all y'all tomgreg fam and succession hive out there!

“Would it be weird if I went to the cemetery today? To like, see Jack?”

“Why would that be weird?” Tom said, “That’s not weird at all.”

“I just thought maybe that it would be.”

“I’ll come with you if you want me to. I mean, if you’d like. But if you want to go by yourself that’s alright too.”

There were things that it was fine to tease Greg about. This was not on the table. Tom was an asshole but that would have been too cruel even for him. 

“I think I would like it if you did,” Greg said after several quiet moments, “This is going to sound stupid.”

“Hand to God Gregory I am not going to make fun of you about this.”

“I thought that like, maybe I could introduce you.”

He remembered his aunt going to speak at his uncle's grave, the strange way people talked to graves like they were talking to the person themselves. 

“That would be nice,” Tom said.

“I’ll drive,” Greg said. It felt like a joke at this point, Greg’s driving, “I thought maybe we could get flowers on the way.”

“That sounds good.”

Tom wasn’t very religious, but sometimes it was comforting. The crosses on the headstones. The angels. The funerals where the minister would tell you that they were in a better place. Tom was no good at religion but faith— whatever faith it was— meant a lot to people. He noticed on the way in all the imagery, saw a few people standing in front of graves and made a quick promise to visit home more often. 

Greg knew the way without having to look, and Tom followed a step behind him. It was threatening to rain or maybe snow, but it remained mostly still. Tom hoped that the rain would hold off until they got back in the car, since neither of them had brought an umbrella.

Greg had bought flowers. Tom knew that was something you did for the dead. Maybe there was a history behind it. But he wasn’t sure and he watched politely as Greg set them down. 

“Ah, hi Jack,” Greg said thickly. He hadn’t cried all morning, and a quick glance told Tom he wasn’t crying now either, “sorry it’s been a little bit. I’ve been in Washington still. At the radio. And, oh yeah. This is Tom.”

Tom took a step forward like it was his turn to speak to a crowd or something. He considered waving, but felt that might have been the wrong move. 

“Tom is really, he’s really important to me. So I thought that maybe you should, you know, meet him. We’re together now you know?”

It was fucking _strange_ and a little spooky honestly. Being in a cemetery knowing that ghosts and maybe more existed. Were there ghosts here now? He almost felt himself shiver at the thought. How did you continue on visiting places like this knowing there might be a dead person standing next to you.

“I saw on Facebook that your sister graduated. She looked really happy,” Greg frowned slightly, “I’m good too. I mean. Me and Tom are really happy together. I know that maybe it was kinda a little messed up at first but we’re good now so you don’t have to worry about me anymore. You were always worrying about me but it’s alright now.”

“I’ll worry for you,” Tom said though he had not a single clue what made him say it besides the fact that it seemed like the right thing to say, “Greg gives me a lot to worry about.”

It made Greg laugh, “yeah right.”

Tom squeezed his hand.

“I think that you two would have gotten along,” Greg said quietly. Tom had never been good with other people’s grief. He was even worse with his own, “Like, I don’t know. I like to think that he’d, like, think I did good. In the end. That I did good with you.”

“I bet we would have. We both love you. Already have something in common. He’s probably thinking that right now.”

The first fact Tom wasn’t so sure of. He didn’t consider himself much of a prize, all things considered and the way Greg spoke of Jack made Tom think he’d been an all around _good_ person. A height Tom was sure he could never achieve. The latter part was true though. Tom wasn’t sure what kind of an afterlife there was, if there was anything at all besides ghosts, but if there was, he was certain that Jack probably thought about Greg. It was easy to think about Greg if you loved him— and even if you hadn’t figured it out yet. Greg kind of stuck to you. 

“Yeah maybe so. I’m glad you’re cool with this.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright with this? You loved the guy. I’d have to be a bigger asshole than I already am to get upset over you wanting to talk to your dead ex Greg.”

“But like—”Greg began and Tom knew exactly where he was headed. At some point, Tom had gotten very good at reading Greg’s worries before he could even voice them. Greg wanted to compare this to Shiv like they were even remotely close to being the same thing. 

“Greg. This is a different situation from anything. Just be here. It’s alright.”

“Right,” Greg nodded. 

“I promise it’s fine,” Tom said firmly, hoping that Greg would finally believe him. 

“It was good to talk to you,” Greg said, kneeling down enough to run a finger over the engraved name, “I think, like, maybe I’ll come see you more. There’s more people at the station working, so it’s easier to get away.”

“I’ll hold him to it,” Tom added. 

Greg stood up, “Gimme, like, a sec would you?” 

Tom watched in silence as Greg stepped away. Tom had to hand it to him, if it had been him, he couldn’t have made it this long without crying. But it stung a little, that Greg didn’t want Tom to see him that upset. Like they still weren’t there somehow. After everything, Greg thought crying in front of him was too much. What did he expect? That Tom would make fun of him for it? 

That didn’t make him feel great.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Tom said, just in case Jack _was_ a ghost hanging around, “He misses you still I think. I ah, well, I don’t know if you can even hear this. But I know that he was important to you. I want you to know he’s important to me as well. That I love him. And that I’m going to make him happy. And if I don’t, well, you can come back and haunt me. That’d be a fitting punishment. If I don’t make him happy, then I deserve it.”

Tom would never have said this sort of thing to Greg. He knew that for sure. They loved each other, that was clear, they said it and they showed it, but this kind of gushy stuff was strictly for no one’s ears, and especially not Greg’s. 

“I mean it,” Tom said, “Fucking manifest in our house. I deserve it. If I can’t do this _one_ thing right. I deserve it. It’s the only thing I can’t afford to fuck up.”

“Sorry,” Greg slid back beside him. Tom did not mention any of the clear evidence of crying nor did he think Greg had heard anything he’d just been saying, “Want to head out?”

“Only if you do?”

“Yeah,” Greg nodded, “Graveyards freak me out.”

The drive home was quiet at first, until Tom flipped the radio on until he found some talk show and then criticized them to make Greg laugh. When they got home, Greg went to the bathroom, where Tom knew he was composing himself, and Tom put on the coffee. Marianne wouldn’t be home until later, which meant they had the house to themselves for several hours. 

“You want coffee?” he asked, when Greg returned.

“Sure.”

“I figured. You alright?”

“Fine.”

Tom turned and leaned against the counter, “Really?”

“I’m alright Tom.”

“Come over here,” he said and pointed to the floor nearby,“I don’t believe you.”

Greg sighed melodramatically and smirked, “You’re awfully bossy.”

But he listened anyway, and jammed his hands in his pockets. Tom considered his next words carefully.

“I promised him that if I would make you happy and if I didn’t, then he had my full permission to haunt me,” Tom said. He hadn’t expected to actually tell Greg this, and briefly gauged how much of his words he was going to share, “And considering what we know about ghosts I think I’m making a big promise to you.”

That was enough. It got the point across. 

“That’s kind of sweet Tom.”

“Shut up Greg.”

“Like it’s perhaps the nicest thing you have ever said to me.”

“Shut up.”

“Careful Tom, you gave your consent to be haunted.”

“You are the biggest freak I’ve ever met,” Tom tugged on Greg’s belt loop to pull him closer, “The tallest and dorkiest, ghost babysitter radio DJ I have ever met in my entire life.”

“Right,” Greg smiled, “is there a but in there? It sounds like there’s a but in there.”

“ _But_ ,” Tom chuckled, “I am incredibly in love with you anyway. It’s kind of embarrassing actually.”

“Fucking sap.”

Tom tucked a loose strand of hair behind Greg’s ear, “Was it an alright day? It can’t, I mean, it can’t be easy for you.”

It was easy to tease Greg now. Even more so when it was mostly out of affection and not some horrific mode of self defense but Tom knew there was a line on a day like today. He cared more about knowing Greg was alright. 

(That was love he supposed. It had been like that with Shiv, when the jokes and the bad stuff had to be pushed aside to make sure she was alright. It was funny, the way that love made you.)

“It gets easier every time,” Greg shrugged, “it’s uh, it’s nice that you came.”

“Well of fucking _course_ Greg. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always!!


	3. the one with the phone call home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom calls his parents

“Hi mom,” Tom said. He had no idea how exactly he was going to drop this information on his parents. It wasn’t that he didn’t think they’d approve, because they were fairly liberal people, but it was a _lot_ with no warning, and he expected an interrogation honestly.

“You sound upset,” she said. She’d always been able to tell, so he shouldn’t have been surprised at all, “Is everything alright? Your Aunt Diane mentioned some things when I spoke to her the other day…”

She trailed off, clearly asking him to fill in the blanks for her. He understood that, but it didn’t make it any easier. He appreciated not coming in swinging, the way she did in court. He wasn’t sure if he could handle the full force of Evelyn Wambsgans, attorney at law right then. 

“Yeah,” he rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah a lot has happened since I came to Washington. Is Dad there? It might be better if I explained it all once.”

“Just a moment,” she said, and he heard her call for his father, heard them mutter something, “I’ll put you on speaker Tommy, go ahead when you’re ready.”

“Ah, this is all going to sound like a lot, but I really, _really_ need you to just listen until I say it.”

“Alright,” she said. He could practically see her worried face, probably debating if she needed to get on a plane to Washington that afternoon to come see for herself what was going on.

“Shiv and I aren’t getting married,” he said. It seemed like the best way to start. It was probably one of the bigger shocks, “I broke it off.”

(It had been an ugly phone call, with nastiness on both sides. Maybe he should have practiced, should have been more professional. Or maybe not. Maybe he should have just ghosted, and never gone back to New York. Hell, he’d only gone back for his important shit and the dog. He tried not to think about it too much, it made him sadder than he wanted to admit.)

“ _What?_ ” she asked.

“There were several reasons,” he ignored her question and pushed forward, “but it boils down to the fact that she and I were not going to have a marriage that would have worked long term. I don’t really want to go into more detail than that. We’re not getting married. I don’t imagine there’s going to be any _media_ information about it, since we weren’t even officially and publicly engaged, but it’s best that you hear it from me, as soon as possible.”

“Well, if that’s what makes you happy,” she sighed, “Are you sure though?”

“Yes,” he replied, surprised to find himself sounding confident, “But there’s ah, there’s more actually. This is going to make me sound bad Mom, and I’m sorry, but I met someone, while I was here, and, well, I’ve made the decision to stay here. With him. That’s why I broke it off with Shiv. It wasn’t fair to her.”

“Oh,” she said. Tom didn’t think she sounded overly disapproving, just surprised, maybe processing everything, “Is this the friend that Diane was telling me about?”

“Yes. His name is Greg. He’s _technically_ Shiv’s cousin, but that’s not that relevant.”

“I see. And this is what you want?”

He thought about it. Thought about Greg’s sleepy smile in the mornings, and the feel of Greg under his arm. Thought about the shitty apartment and the cheap coffee and the stupid fucking X Files names and everything else and he smiled, “More than anything.”

“Well then we’ll be on your side,” she said, and he heard his dad chime in to agree, “You know that. We want to meet him.”

“Yeah I think- I think we’re going to come visit soon. When Greg’s a little better. I told Aunt Diane that we would.”

“We’ll look forward to it,” she said, “Tom? We don’t care who you date.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you alright?”

“I think so,” he said, only about half certain. Alright was a funny word. Sure he was _alright_ because Greg was alive, and he was alive, and it was just fine, but he was also so far from being alright it hurt, “It’s just been sort of hectic. I quit at Waystar. I don’t know. I don’t know a lot right now. I just wanted to tell you that.”

He remembered being a kid, just wanting to tell his parents the bad things that had happened. To come home from school and spill his guts over cookies his mother made or to call from wherever he and Shiv were just talk talk. But then Shiv had teased him about it, called him a mommy’s boy, and told him things then made him promise to not tell anybody, or then there were NDA’s at Waystar and finally Tom stopped calling home so much.

It felt good to tell somebody that wasn’t Greg things again.

“Is that all Tommy?”

_No,_ he wanted to say. Because it was _not_ all. Not when he wanted to tell everything that happened, to make his parents understand what had happened when he was fourteen, what had happened again here. He wanted to force their eyes open and make them listen, make them believe. But how did you make someone believe something that seemed impossible? Greg’s mother, who had been told twice now of the monsters in the Washington woods remained staunchly in the category of non believer. Perhaps Greg’s injury had made her less skeptical, but Tom knew if he were to call Marianne and ask her, she would tell him that there was a very logical explanation for it all, and that he should consider that as well.

It was so far from being all. 

“Yes,” he said instead, “That’s all. I have to go. But I think that I’ll probably call you soon.”

“You call us anytime,” his mother said firmly, “Anytime. Anything you need Tommy.”

“Sure. I will.” 

He was pretty sure that he meant that.


	4. the one with marianne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Marianne talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meant to post this like a week ago lmao

Tom was a firm believer in the fact that Marianne did _not_ like him.

Greg tried to argue that she simply didn’t know him every well, but in the first days after Greg was released from the hospital, and he spent a lot of time sleeping, Tom and Marianne sat in silence and said very little to each other. Greg was their middleman, and when he was out of the room, Tom wasn’t sure how to break the tension. 

He thought it was more than fair that she be wary of him. Not only had he been having a full fledged affair with her son, but Greg got hurt on his watch. He thought it was a mother’s right to be wary of somebody like that. 

But he was polite and tried his best. He ate the food she made and complimented her, he spoke gently to Greg when he woke him up, and helped her clean the apartment from top to bottom. She’d made it clear she was refusing to leave until the place was up to her standards, until she’d stuffed the fridge with homemade foods, and until she watched Greg write his follow up doctor’s appointments on the calendar. 

“You’re already forgetful,” she had said, “And you can’t miss those Greg, they’re too important.”

In the early mornings, Tom tried to get work done. He didn’t like working on Waystar and Roy family things-- or rather, the ending of those things-- when Greg was awake because he needed to focus on the new life here, but in the early mornings Greg would sleep for several hours more, given the strength of the meds he was on, and Tom would camp out at the kitchen table with his laptop and a coffee and work until he heard movement from the bedroom.

But this morning Marianne was waiting for him.

“Good morning Mrs. Hirsch,” he said, sliding over to the coffee pot. She watched him from her seat at the table in silence. He could practically feel her eyeing him up and down. 

“Good morning Tom. You’re up early.” He tried hard to read her tone, but it seemed like she was merely observing him more than anything else. But he couldn’t help but think that maybe she was somehow _judging_ him. 

“I have some emails I need to get out. Stuff to sort,” he waved his hand vaguely and hoped she wouldn’t ask him to elaborate, “I don’t want to do it when Greg’s up.”

He poured his coffee and returned to the table. She glanced away, to her own phone, and after a moment he decided she was not going to have a conversation with him, so he pulled up his email. 

“He loves you,” she said. Again. Just an observation. Nothing much behind it. Like she was commenting on the weather outside, or the newscaster’s appearance on television. 

Tom nodded, “I love him too.”

“He’s all I have,” Marianne said quietly. Tom had noticed, in the past few days, only a few distinctly Roy characteristics. Maybe the Canadian half of the family had evolved differently, but he did not forget who she was. Roys had potential to turn nasty if they wanted and Tom did not want to witness that from her, “He’s my boy.”

Still. This was soft, was maternal. Was words he did not think were in the Roy family vocabulary.

“I love him,” Tom said again, simply because he didn’t know what else to say. How did he possibly make her believe what had happened, when she seemed to be so firmly otherwise. How did he explain how much he’d been willing to die, would have without much thought really, if it meant Greg could have lived?

“He’s a good boy,” she shook her head. They didn’t look much like each other, Greg and Marianne. She was much shorter than he was, lighter haired, with softer features. Greg must have resembled his father, “A little dumb sometimes, but a good boy. He’s had it very hard.”

Tom nodded, “I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him.”

She looked up, “You already did.”

“I can’t explain it to you.”

She shrugged, “I don’t want you too. Not really. I can’t… I can’t make myself believe that bullshit story. You have to understand that.”

“I know.”

“But I see the way you look at him. The way you kiss him in the mornings. The way you fret. He deserved that sort of love. I want that for him. I think most parents want that for their children.”

She stood up and set her mug down. Tom thought for a moment that she was going to walk out of the room. Again, he wasn’t sure he could exactly blame her for anything that she did. She’d said it herself. Greg was maybe all she had. He’d never met Ewan, but if he was anything like his brother, he didn’t imagine she got much from her father. And her husband-- ex husband now he supposed-- well that was a laugh. Greg had made that clear in very few words.

“I’m going home tomorrow,” she declared, “I can’t do much else here, and Greg doesn’t need me hovering over his every move.”

“You’re welcome to stay with us,” Tom said, though he knew her mind was probably already made up. That was probably good. It was strange, with her there. He felt like he was putting on a performance around the two of them. And it wasn’t that he didn’t like Marianne, because he did. She was nice enough, and seemed to be a good mother. But they needed space to figure things out, make things official. Whatever it was that was going to happen.

She hesitated for only a moment, then bent down to kiss Tom on the forehead, much to his surprise, “Thank you for taking care of him.”

There was a lot Tom wanted to say, but he’d gotten no better at saying any of that sort of stuff. Maybe one day he’d be able to tell her that taking care of Greg seemed to maybe be the only thing he’d ever _needed_ to be good at, the only thing that ever really made a Goddamn difference in the grand scheme of things. That if all went well, he’d be taking care of Greg forever, but Greg would also be taking care of him. He hadn’t had somebody to care for him, not really, not in a long time, so together they would be good.

Instead he just smiled, “Of course.”


	5. the one with the hospital hallway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Sam talk things over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set between chapter 29 and chapter 30!

“Hey,” Sam nudged Tom’s foot with her own sneaker. He looked up from his spot on the floor and managed a smile, “You been sleeping at all?”

“Ah,” he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to wake up a bit. It failed, “Not really. There’s a couch in there but it’s kind of small, and Marianne keeps glaring at me.” 

“It shows. You look terrible.”

“Why are you here?”

She held up a greasy brown bag, “Breakfast delivery. Marianne inside still?”

“Yeah. The doctors think he’s going to wake up soon. They said he’s improving or whatever. Maybe tonight or tomorrow,” Tom said, glancing back at the room. He hoped against all hope that it was true. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do exactly if Greg didn’t wake up. Took a turn for the worse.

“That’s good,” she frowned at him, “You look like absolute shit. Like you got run over by a bus. Somehow worse than when you first called us, and we brought the flowers.”

“Thanks,” he shot back, “I don’t imagine you’d look so good either.”

“Yeah,” she sighed and sat down next to him. The bag was warm between them, but Tom appreciated the barrier. He knew Sam was trying to be friendly, trying to be supportive, but Tom had never been good at friends, or people who tried to be kind to him. It was better there was space between them, “You know my brother died in this hospital.”

“How would I know that?”

“It’s just a fucking figure of speech Tom. You’re from New York not Mars. Shut up,” she bumped his leg with her own, “But yeah. He did.”

“I’m sorry,” Tom replied, dropping the defensive tone. That was unkind to this poor girl who was willing to tell him something serious, “Were you two close?”

“Oh yeah,” she ran a hand through her short hair, “He was four years older than me. We were thick as thieves as kids you know? But it was cancer. Fucking horrible to watch. It hurt a lot when he was sick and all. I loved him so much.”

Tom had thought that maybe everybody at the station had some baggage they were dragging around, although Sam's didn’t appear to be remotely supernatural, just tragic. Did tragedy bring people together, even if it was a separate tragedy? Was there an aura given off by people, one that others could sense? Did they know when he pulled into the station that day that he was one of them?

“I’m sorry,” he said again, to make up for his previous attitude.

“When I first met Greg I was still so fucked up over his death. I was in school. Journalism, just like Greg. You knew that I think. And I answered the want ad in the paper because it seemed low-key enough, seemed like it might be a nice thing on my resume, and since it was oftentimes night hours, I could still go to school. And when I went in for the interview Greg reminded me so much of my brother. Older sure, and significantly more idiotic, but they were similar enough that I felt just a little better. I don’t know. He made some stupid ass comment about some stupid ass movie and I burst out laughing. It just felt better.”

“Greg has that affect on people,” Tom mused, “It’s fucking annoying.”

She laughed, “I gotta go bring this in before it gets cold. Are you going to hide out here forever?”

“I think you were right. She could kill me if she wanted to.”

Sam laughed again and stood up, “Don’t be a fucking pussy. Come inside.”

“I will. I just-- Sam can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“If I told Greg that I loved him, what do you think he would say?”

Sam blinked, “I thought you guys were just fucking.”

“Don’t talk like that, you’re a kid.”

“Dude, I’m twenty two. I am allowed to say fuck. But if it helps your Jane Austen tendencies I’ll rephrase. I thought you two were just hooking up?”

“Yeah well, we were,” Tom said, flustered. Why he was telling Sam all these details was beyond him but there weren't very many people he could talk to about it all, “But things have changed. I think that _I’ve_ changed. I don’t know, when, exactly, but I just looked at him one day and realized it. I thought he was going to die. I really did.”

“So you’re asking me what Greg might think of you being in love with him?” she asked.

“I think you know him well enough to tell me. You’re his friend. It seems like your opinion would be helpful. Do you think, well, do you think he could love me too?”

“Sorry buddy, you’re going to have to just see for yourself.”

“I’m fucking terrified.”

“You fought a damn monster and _this_ is what terrifies you?”

“I think one can be terrified in different ways. You’re really not going to give me your two cents on this?”

She smiled, “you’ll just have to tell him. See what happens. Get off the fucking floor Tom. You look pathetic. Go sit in there. Marianne isn’t going to kill you here anyway. And if you want to tell Greg you love him just tell him. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I could get murdered,” Tom pushed himself off the floor, “That’s probably the worst?”

But it wasn’t the worst. The worst was that he would tell Greg that he loved him. That he didn’t know how exactly, or when, but it was the truth. And Greg would simply listen and stare at him, and when he was finished Greg would tell him that it was one sided. That he thought Tom was a nice hookup, a good friend, but nothing more. That Greg wouldn’t love Tom back, not in the way he wanted so Goddamn badly.

_That_ would be the worst thing.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy this! dead air was so well received (despite being very self indulgent) and i hope you all continue to like this universe!


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